Let Me Give You My Life
by R.L. Woodson
Summary: AU. Dean's job in the mailroom of Novak & Sons is boring, but he has to put Sam through college somehow. The boredom is short-lived, though, when he's given an envelope marked "Hand Deliver" to take to his mysterious (and incredibly hot) boss. Companion piece to Take Me to Church.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Let Me Give You My Life

 **Rated:** M (for later chapters)

 **Summary:** AU. Dean's job in the mailroom of Novak & Sons is boring, but he has to put Sam through college somehow. The boredom is short-lived, though, when he's given an envelope marked "Hand Deliver" to take to his mysterious (and incredibly hot) boss. Companion piece to _Take Me to Church_.

 **A/N:** Hello my beautiful readers! As some of you know, I wrote a fic called _Take Me to Church_ which did pretty well for itself. It was 100% Castiel-sided though, and I've received a few questions about Dean's side in the whole thing. SO I wrote a series of snapshots from Dean's perspective!

 **Make sure you read** ** _Take Me to Church_** **first!** Since this does not cover every scene from TMTC, there will be little holes that might confuse you a little if you read it as a standalone. I will appreciate you soooo much if you click on over to that one first.

That being said, I hope you all enjoy some of the things running through Dean's head. Enjoy!

 **Chapter One**

It all started when Dean gave in to his mild OCD and straightened a crooked picture frame in the office hallway.

It could have been a GQ cover as far as Dean was concerned. The man gazing out from the photo paper was just stunning, all smoldering blue eyes and sex hair. Dean hadn't realized he'd been staring so long until a voice spoke up behind him.

"There a reason you're ogling our CEO?"

Dean jumped so hard he crashed back into his mail cart. "What? No, I—"

"Calm down, kid, you look like you're having an aneurism." The man was short with long, dirty blonde hair, holding a half-eaten kit kat.

"Mr. Novak," Dean remembered from his interview. "You're head of HR, right?"

Gabriel Novak smiled. "Good to see you, Dean-o. Next time, close your mouth when you eye fuck my brother's picture."

Dean flushed bright red as Gabe walked away. He wasn't being _that_ obvious, was he? He shook his head, glancing at the picture one last time before pushing his mail cart down the hallway.

o o o

"Dean-o!" the increasingly familiar voice was calling his name again.

Dean turned and walked back to the door he'd just passed. "What's up, Mr. Novak?"

"I need a favor." His smile was innocent, but his eyes were mischievous. "I need you to hand deliver this to my brother." Dean's eyes went wide as Gabe held out a little envelope. "That won't be too hard a task, would it?"

"No, of course not," Dean's voice rose. Yeah, it would be fine. He would just have to focus on keeping a raging boner down while standing face-to-face with the hottest man he'd ever seen. It would only be for a second though.

He set the envelope at the very bottom of the mail cart and carried on with his work.

Almost an hour later, the elevator doors closed and Dean finally had a second to breathe. He was almost done for the day, only a few pieces left. He usually didn't cover the upper floors, but, well, he had to this time.

In the solitary of the elevator, the Winchester gave into temptation and plucked the special envelope from the stack. The words _Please hand-deliver to Castiel Novak_ were printed over the front in red ink. It was light, maybe one or two sheets of paper inside, and Dean had to set the letter back down to prevent himself from holding it up to the light to see what was inside.

 _Ding_. Dean straightened up and pushed the little cart out onto the top floor. Two manilla envelopes for the Design Director, one small package for the Advertising Director, and one letter for the CEO and president of Garrison Publishing, Castiel Novak.

"Um, hi," Dean said to the bored-looking secretary. "I was told to hand deliver this to Mr. Novak?"

The woman eyed him for a minute before turning back to her screen. "You can just wait for him in there."

Dean let out a breath. So he wasn't here yet. That gave him more time to prepare. The cart was left outside and Dean wandered into—holy shit.

The CEO's office was huge, with bookshelves lining two walls, the third a floor-to-ceiling window with a view of the city. In the corner there were two overstuffed armchairs and a little coffee table with three empty cups on it.

"Whoa," Dean breathed, stepping up to one of the bookshelves. There had to be several hundred books in these cases. Some looked brand new, some looked ancient. He was about to reach for a copy of _The Old Man and the Sea_ when a little noise came from behind him.

He turned and his mouth fell open. There he was, Mr. GQ magazine cover, the CEO, Castiel Novak. The picture didn't do him justice, especially his eyes. Even from a distance, they bore into Dean's soul. "Shit," he murmured.

Castiel's eyebrows rose, and too late Dean realized that he'd just made a horrible first impression. _Fix it you moron!_ "Uh, I mean sorry, sorry Mr. Novak, I wasn't-" _Stop rambling and show some dignity god dammit._

Dean stood up straighter. What's done was done.

Castiel walked towards him slowly, his blue eyes still pinning Dean to the ground. For a second, Dean feared Castiel might yell at him. He shouldn't even be calling the guy Castiel in his head.

"I just came to deliver mail," he said quietly.

Castiel tilted his head. "That is the duty of my secretary," he said. God, his voice was so deep and gravelly. If he wasn't so nervous, Dean would have popped a boner right there.

The Winchester swallowed thickly. "It says 'Important: Hand Deliver' on it." He held out the letter, and to his relief, Castiel took it. The Novak walked back to his desk and sat.

What did Dean do? Leave? What if he needed to deliver something back to Gabe? He decided to stand awkwardly in front of Castiel's desk until he said something.

He could take this time to look at him, because Castiel was absorbed in the letter. He may be hot as hell, but with his face pinched in exasperation, Dean could only describe him as adorable.

The features smoothed out, and Dean wondered what the letter said. Was it something about company secrets? Family drama? Lunch plans? Before he had any more time to think, Castiel was folding the paper and tucking it back into the envelope.

He stared at Dean for a moment. Those deep blue eyes seemed to pin him down like a butterfly in a frame. Castiel was definitely not a normal dude, but there was something about him that fascinated Dean, other than his smoking hot exterior. Dean shifted his weight

"You don't need to deliver a reply," he said solemnly.

Dean felt himself color. He must have looked like an idiot just standing there. "Okay," he took a step back. "I'll just go then."

He moved to the door, trying not to look like he was running away, when Castiel said his name. "Dean." That was it. _His name_ in _that voice_ would be something he planned on replaying that night. How did Castiel even know his name?

Dean turned, keeping his mouth shut. "Thank you."

For some reason, a little embarrassed smile crossed his face. "Yeah, sure," he murmured. Then he ran out the door before he could do or say something really stupid.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Thank you MimiDuJour and Gandalf537 for the reviews! The are my life.

Now, backstage at the Roadhouse. Takes place during chapter two.

 **Chapter Two**

Saturday came too quickly for Dean's comfort. He relished the little moments he had with Castiel where they would play the question game. Castiel wanted to know more about him and his life and fuck if that didn't make him feel special.

Dean had always known he was into anyone with a pretty face and a good personality, but he'd never really held down a relationship with any gender for too long. There was Lisa during senior year of high school for about three months, and he had a "thing" Benny during sophomore year of college for a few months. He would have actually dated him, if he wasn't so afraid of commitment.

Both Lisa and Benny and a few others had been great people, but they didn't have that spark that Dean assumed would come with love. He'd deny it until he was blue in the face, but he really wanted that soppy, romantic love that you'd see in chick flicks. He wanted someone who could understand his shitty past and get along with Sam and think he was more than an associates degree from a stupid community college.

He wanted Castiel to be like that. He _really_ wanted Castiel to be like that. But Castiel went to ivy league schools and was emotionally stable and probably wasn't into guys anyway, despite his curiosity in Dean.

"Jesus, you look like someone ran over your dog," Jo threw an apron at him as he walked into the Roadhouse's back doors.

"I'm a cat person," he said over his shoulder. It was time to go to work, again. Anything to pay for Stanford tuition.

Dean tied his apron around his waist, dreading the fake smile he was about to put on. He'd rather lay in bed and mope about Castiel and jack off a few more times than necessary.

Then, by the grace of god, he saw one Castiel Novak sitting at his bar. He couldn't help the giant, genuine smile that spread across his face. Castiel was in relatively casual clothes, just jeans and a button up, but he still looked mouthwatering. His hair stuck up like he'd just rolled out of bed. He wondered if Castiel would look that way rolling out of Dean's bed.

 _Be cool, be cool_. "Hey Mr. Novak!" he said, keeping his stride casual. Oh, Gabe was there too. "Mr. Novak," he nodded.

"Dean, my boy!" Gabe greeted him. "I see you have an apron there."

Honestly, Dean had forgotten where he was and what he was doing, but he focused himself. "Yeah, I work here on weekends." He glanced at Castiel and cleared his throat. Did that make him look broke as fuck? Would Castiel judge him?

Castiel cocked his head adorably. "Does the mail room not offer you adequate pay?" Shit, he did look like he was broke as fuck.

"No, nothing like that," he said quickly. "I'm just paying for my brother's tuition, and it's kind of expensive." Like only-enough-left-over-for-studio-apartment-and-ramen expensive.

"Stanford is one of the best schools in the nation," Castiel nodded. Dean blinked a few times. Castiel remembered. "It makes sense that it would be expensive."

Gabe looked like he was going to say something, but Dean changed the subject. "So, what are y'all drinking?"

"Mudslide for myself and whiskey for the bro," Gabe gestured to their nearly-drained drinks.

Dean grinned. He should have expected that, Gabe was always eating something sweet. "Jo calls those heart attacks in a cup." Jo was also peeking out from the kitchen door, making thumbs up at him whenever he glanced her way.

"I know," Gabriel grinned. "She's pretty, isn't she, Dean?"

Dean glanced back over at Jo, who was now wiggling her eyebrows. He could not see those two together. It would be like 24/7 fight night. "Yeah, she is, but you might want to steer clear of her. She's like my little sister."

Castiel looked relieved, like he was thinking the same thing. But he immediately stiffened back up when Gabe said, "What, am I too old for her?"

Dean glanced at Castiel. The guy could be a thousand and Dean would still have the same thoughts running through his head. "'Course not," he set the glass in front of Castiel. "She'd just eat you alive, I'm doing you a favor here."

His hands tapped nervously on the bar. He wanted to say something else, but Rufus motioned to him from the other end of the bar. With one last smile to the Novak brothers, Dean left.

Without asking, he poured Rufus' Johnny Walker Blue, as per usual.

"What's eatin' you, kid?" Rufus asked, sipping his favorite drink. "You got some boy troubles?" He could always tell.

Dean rubbed the back of his neck, grateful that Bobby's best friend had accepted him so quickly. "Not really. Maybe. I don't know," Dean sighed. "it's complicated."

"Then uncomplicated it," Rufus insisted. "You deserve a little happy."

Dean glanced over to the other side of the bar, but the Novaks were gone. Movement at the door drew Dean's eye, and he saw Castiel's blue eyes in the distance, giving him a strange, unreadable look. He nodded, and was out the door.

"Maybe next time." Dean gave Rufus a little half smile and walked over to clean up the bar. Castiel's cups had been neatly stacked and the bar around them had been wiped down. Luckily Gabe's mudslide site wasn't a wreck, but Dean grabbed a rag anyway.

"Where'd he go?" Jo popped up behind Dean.

A twinge of pain ran through the Winchester's chest. "I don't know," he mumbled.

"But y'all were hitting it off!" she pouted, taking the rag from Dean's hands.

"We weren't hitting it off," he snapped. "He's my boss. He doesn't want—" Dean stopped. "He's a nice guy, but he's my boss. We're just professional."

He expected a sassy answer from Jo, but she stayed quiet as she cleaned some glasses. For once, he was grateful for her silence. He didn't want to think about the things he didn't deserve.

 **A/N:** Jo has an opinion. What's your opinion? Reviews are love!


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** A big thank you to hug-a-hufflepuff, gandalf537, and Turise for reviewing! It seriously makes my week. Here's your next chapter! Takes place during chapter three.

 **Chapter Three**

"Just wait in there," Castiel's secretary had told him. So Dean was in Castiel's office, waiting.

It was just boredom and curiosity, he told himself, that made him wander around the room, trying to find things to give him a glimpse into Castiel's life.

The previous night, after a particularly vivid sex dream about Castiel, Dean had talked himself out of feeling anything deep for him. He was hot, and nice. That was it. Those weren't enough to build strong feelings on, right? He could carry on with his life, have some nice conversations with his boss, and look but not touch. He'd be fine, it wasn't like Castiel was into him or anything.

Dean trailed his fingers across the leather of his armchair. The seat was soft and worn, but the arms were stiff and new-feeling. Dean guessed that Castiel never really put his arms back, never really relaxed. He always worked so hard.

His book collection was phenomenal. He'd gotten a glimpse the day he met him, but he looked closer now. There was everything from _The Iliad_ to _War and Peace_ to _The Handmaiden's Tale_.

Dean wandered. He looked out the giant windows, straightened all of Castiel's favorite pens, and looked at the awful old coffee pot in the corner. It was set at almost 190 degrees, way too hot for Dean to ever drink.

Finally, Dean leaned against the desk and scrutinized the letter in his hand. It was so thin, was there even anything in this? He held it up to the light, trying to see if there was any paper at all.

The thunk of the closed door made Dean jump nearly out of his skin. "Mr. Novak, uh, I..." he stuttered. Shit, Castiel would be mad. It was a total invasion of privacy, trying to read the letter, he—

"How was work?" Castiel asked, ignoring the letter. There was a little smile on his face.

"Huh?" his mind blanked.

"The Roadhouse?"

Relief flooded through Dean. Castiel wasn't mad, he wasn't implying that Dean wasn't doing his job. "Oh right, it was fine." Honestly, he couldn't remember anything interesting after Castiel had left on Saturday. "Nothing too terrible."

He did his job and held out the suspiciously thin envelope. Castiel walked up to him, almost in slow motion, getting close enough for Dean to smell the shampoo he used. Something piney and pleasant. "I'm glad."

Well fuck.

Castiel broke the silence before Dean began sweating. "You'll be glad to know that my brother did not suffer a heart attack." He paused. "From the heart attack in a cup. That's what you call it, correct?"

Dean grinned. Castiel was so cute. "Yeah, a few more of those and he was sure to be a gonner." Castiel was joking about work, and it was a stark contrast to the nerves Dean felt just a few minutes ago.

Castiel sat down and set the letter down, still staring at him. What did Dean do? He hadn't even opened the letter. Before his filter kicked in, he opened his mouth. "Do you want me to go? Or did you want to play the question game again?" Castiel looked confused, and Dean mentally slapped himself. "Y'know, you always ask me a question before I leave, and then I ask you back…"

Castiel nodded slowly, and Dean's nerves returned. After a moment, Castiel asked, "What do you dream about?"

Dean's eyes widened, and he felt heat creep up his cheeks. _I dreamt that you fucked me through my mattress at home while whispering in French or something and I came in my sleep like a teenager._ "Uh…" he didn't know what to make up. "Stuff, I guess?"

Wow, he sounded like such a mature adult. God damn.

"I too dream about 'stuff'." Castiel's voice was completely serious, but there was a little teasing glint in his eye. He was making a joke. Castiel Novak was fucking with him.

"You're fucking with me, aren't you?"

Something changed in Castiel's eyes, but it wasn't disapproving. The little mischievous glint had turned deeper, like he was staring right through Dean into his soul. It was the kind of look Dean imagined Castiel would give him before stripping him down and taking him apart piece by piece on whatever surface was closest. It was the look of hunger.

"I am."

And damn if that voice wouldn't be the death of Dean. His mouth had gone dry, and it took all of his willpower not to rearrange the pressure in his jeans. "Yeah," was all he could say.

The tension was broken as Castiel looked away, unaware of the hold he had over Dean. "Thank you, Dean," he said casually, as if Dean wasn't half-wrecked right there in his office. All Dean could do was try not to run as he fled the room.

o o o

Of course Sam knew something was up the second Dean said hello.

"Spill, Dean, what happened?"

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose, not wanting to lie, but unwilling to admit anything to himself or those around him. "Nothing happened… I just might have a tiny crush on my boss."

"Your boss?!" Sam yelled through the phone. Dean winced and pulled the phone away from his ear. "Which one? The head of the mail room? The Director of communications? The CEO? C'mon, Dean, I need to know!"

Dean couldn't help the little smile that pulled on his lips. "Don't freak out, it's the CEO."

Sam screeched something on the other line, and started babbling. Dean should have never said anything, Sam knew all about Novak & Sons, ever since Gabe had done that huge presentation at Stanford.

"Sam, stop, it doesn't matter anyway. Nothing's gonna happen."

Sam got all quiet. "You know I hope it works out. I'm going to go now, got stuff to do."

Dean knew that tone. "Sam, don't you dare call Bobby, I swear to god—"

"Bye, Jerk!" he said before hanging up.

"Bitch," Dean muttered. Those two gossiped like old women. Still, it didn't bring down his mood when he knew he'd see Castiel tomorrow.

 **A/N:** Now Sam has an opinion. What's yours? Please review!


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** Dean's new job, and another call with Sam. Takes place in chapter three.

 **Chapter Four**

Dean knew he shouldn't be eavesdropping, but when he approached Castiel's door, they were speaking loudly enough to be heard by the entire hallway. Rebecca was pregnant and moving, and Castiel sounded lost.

"Hey, Mr. Novak," he said carefully.

Castiel's eyes swept once over Dean and then around to Rebecca before settling on his door. "Hello, Dean. You may come in."

Dean shuffled in behind Castiel, fully aware that this was the first time he had been invited in. All he had to do was hand him an envelope, but he was going in. It would have been thrilling, if he wasn't so worried.

"Sorry about your secretary," Dean said. "I wasn't eavesdropping, y'all were just outside."

"It's not a problem," Castiel leaned against his desk, staring at the floor. "I've just become painfully aware of how unprepared I am to run my own life."

Dean chuckled. Story of his life. "It get's easier, man," he said, remembering the first paycheck he earned that was big enough to cover all his expenses _and_ save for Sam's tuition.

Castiel looked at him for a moment, then asked, "Would you like a promotion?"

Dean's mouth dropped open. Did Castiel really want him to be his secretary? That was a huge step up, though… It was obvious Castiel hadn't given much thought to this. He'd just received Rebecca's news, and Dean was the only other person around. A person that Castiel knew worked multiple jobs to keep himself afloat.

He swallowed thickly. "I appreciate the offer, Mr. Novak, but you don't need to promote me 'cause you feel bad. I know I'm working two jobs, but it's going fine and—"

"Dean," Castiel interrupted, and the younger man fell silent. "I was not offering charity. I requested you because I know you work hard. If anyone can help me get my shit together, as Gabriel says, it would be you." Dean blinked. He sounded so sincere and his eyes were so blue and did he really think of Dean as that competent?

"You mean it?"

"I do," Castiel gave him one of those little smiles. "Though not as a secretary; as a personal assistant."

Oh shit. Dean felt his elation climbing and tried to tamp it down a bit. He'd have a higher paycheck and more time with Castiel and actual benefits and more time with Castiel and a real desk to sit at and more time with Castiel.

"Well then," he set the forgotten letter down and grinned, "I guess I'm your new PA."

Castiel smiled brightly, then frowned. "Will you be available this weekend?"

"Yeah, what's going on?"

Castiel raised an eyebrow. "You'll be traveling to Baltimore with me and a few staff members to attend a conference."

Dean's eyes went wide. That was a huge first step with very little training involved. But he'd probably jump into a volcano if Castiel asked him to. "Okay. Okay, I can do that. Uh, let me talk to—" he looked back towards Rebecca.

"Rebecca," Castiel supplied.

"Yeah, Rebecca. Hang on."

Dean strode over to the bored-looking woman. "So what all do I need?"

She gave him a pitying sort of look. "He keeps most everything in paper, so…" she motioned to a few boxes of papers.

Dean pinched his brow. "Okay, let's start with this weekend." Rebecca handed him the brochure, itinerary, plane tickets, hotel booking confirmations, and several more papers. Dean tried to absorb as much as he could, shuffling the papers into chronological order as she handed them to him. Piece of cake, right?

"I'll train you a little more after the conference, but it'll have to be over phone. Until then, that's what you need."

Dean turned, trying to memorize the schedule and went back to Castiel. "Okay," he said, "so the plane takes off at eleven thirty, and the flight's two and a half hours long plus time change, so we'll get in at three-ish. We should all be at the airport at ten or ten thirty, just in case something goes wrong. I have the tickets here..." he flipped a few papers, "and here's the conference itinerary. So if we get there at three, check in to the hotel by four, then we'll have time to eat dinner before the opening at six." Lord. That was a lot to absorb at once.

Castiel looked at him like he'd just performed a miracle. "Amazing," he murmured to himself.

Dean felt himself flush, and then felt embarrassed about that. It was just some scheduling and information organizing. Nothing that amazing was going on.

They spoke another few words before Dean fled, the weight of his new responsibility on his shoulders. His excited nerves pounded his stomach until he was in the parking garage, unlocking his baby.

Dean tapped on his phone, and luckily, Sam answered quickly.

"Dean, what's wrong?"

He couldn't help but chuckle. "It's, uh, the opposite, actually. I just got promoted."

There was a little pause, then a surprisingly high pitched shriek. "Dean, that's amazing! You must have done something right to get mail room manager."

"About that…"

"What, Dean?" Sam sounded suspicious.

"I'm the CEO's new personal assistant. Surprise?"

"The CEO," Sam deadpanned.

"Mhmm."

"The one you're in love with."

"I never said I was in love with him."

"You're his personal assistant now?!" his voice rose.

Dean chuckled. "Yeah, Sammy."

"Holy shit!" Sam yelled. "That's—wait." He paused. "Now you're the direct employee of the guy you're in love with."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Jesus, I'm not in—"

"Dean." Sam's voice was serious, and Dean shut up. "I'm really happy for you, I am, but be careful, okay?"

He knew what that meant. Be careful because he's your boss. And be careful because you could become attached, and we all know what happens when you become attached.

"I will, Sammy," Dean said quietly. "Now, tell me about your smart-ass classes. You ready for the bar yet?"

Sam launched into that particular topic, leaving the dangerous emotions behind. Dean wouldn't tell Sam that he was right, it was more than a crush. His feelings were growing rapidly, and this shift into closeness with Castiel wouldn't help it. But for now he'd laugh at Sam's antics and drive to his little studio apartment and get ready for a trip he was totally unprepared for.

 **A/N:** Ooh, risky business. Reviews are love!


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** The start of the conference. Takes place in chapter four.

 **Chapter Five**

Dean tapped his foot absently at the music playing in the Starbucks line. It was one of those Top 40s songs that he didn't really like, but couldn't get out of his head. He had left the other employees of Novak & Sons to get everyone something to drink. Really, he left to get Castiel some coffee because the guy looked like he was seconds from passing out on his feet.

"What can I get you?" the girl at the register asked, way too chipper for the morning.

"One of whatever hot tea you think is best, with some milk," he started, "one peppermint mocha with an extra shot of espresso, a latte, and…" He thought back to the multiple empty coffee cups in Castiel's office and his slightly-too-red tongue poking out of his lips. "One dark roast, with a few ice cubes in it."

He was under no illusion that getting Castiel the perfect cup of coffee would make him fall in love with him, but he loved that little surprised smile that crossed Castiel's face every so often. If he was honest, he'd do a lot to make Castiel smile.

Dean pushed the little fluttery feeling in his stomach down as he returned to the group. "Tea with milk for Mr. Crowley, because he insulted my coffee more than once." Dean handed the steaming cup to the head of Public Relations. "Peppermint mocha with an extra shot for Mrs. Mills, because your favorite things are Christmas and caffeine." He smiled brightly at her. "And black coffee for Mr. Novak with a few ice cubes, because you always burn your tongue."

Castiel's eyebrows rose and his lips tilted up a fraction. Those blue eyes bore into his. It was the most adorable thing Dean had ever seen, and he sat back, content.

"It's amazing you remembered! It was last January when I told you that." Jody took a sip and hummed her approval. He remembered only a few days after the new year when she bought herself three coffees and poured peppermint schnapps in every single one, claiming that, 'It's the only way I can keep up with you people on nights like this.'

Dean grinned, but it fell when Castiel furrowed his brow.

"Jody," _you're at work_ , "I mean Mrs. Mills, comes to our family Christmases. She's Ellen's best friend. Ellen is Jo's mom, who runs the Roadhouse. Ellen's like family to me, so we all spend the holidays together."

His family was convoluted, sure, but that was the family he chose.

"And what did you order?" Castiel asked. He spoke softly and turned towards Dean, effectively blocking everyone else out of the conversation.

Dean chucked, feeling his face flush. "A latte. It's kinda girly, I know, but—" He remembered Sam's face the first time he ordered a whole milk latte with caramel and three spoonfuls of sugar. His brother had gasped and lectured Dean about his clogging arteries. The drink, even with Sam's reprimanding, tasted delicious. "My brother's a health freak and it always annoys him when I get this much sugar."

Castiel smiled at him again, this time a little wider. It was infectious.

o o o

Dean didn't remember how much he hated flying until the g-forces attacked his body. He thought he might puke up his internal organs in alphabetical order on this air-death-trap, but he doubted Castiel would have found that attractive.

He used to sing to himself whenever he had to do something he didn't want to growing up, so he did the only thing he could—he hummed "Some Kind of Monster".

"Are you humming Metallica?" Castiel asked beside him.

Dean was too uncomfortable to be embarrassed. "Calms me down," he muttered.

"You don't like flying," Castiel stated rather than asked. If Dean weren't so uncomfortable, he'd snort. All he could do was nod. "Tell me a story then."

Dean pried his eyes open. "What?"

Castiel leaned forward, completely at ease. "Tell me a story, or something to take your attention off the flight. Tell me about something you love."

The plane hit some turbulence, and Dean dug his nails into the skinny arms of the seats. "Well, I love my car," he chuckled humorlessly. He was sure as hell not confessing his love for Castiel while cowering on a plane.

"What kind of car do you have?"

Dean glanced over at him. Castiel looked so sincere, like he really did want to hear about his Baby. "She's a Chevy Impala, 1967," Dean relaxed a little. "Built her myself, actually."

Castiel's brows furrowed. "You built the entire car?"

Dean chuckled. "I mean, my dad wrecked her, absolutely totaled. They wanted to scrap her and sell the pieces, but I put her back together. She's perfect now." It was a sad story with a happy ending. Well, as happy as Dean could ever have.

"When did you do that?" Castiel looked awed, and it made Dean feel nice and warm. He unclenched his fingers from the seat and stretched them out.

"I was fourteen or fifteen, I think. Not legal to drive, anyway." Dean smiled, but it died quickly. He was in ninth grade when John had totaled the car the first time. Bobby had called and said John was fine, he was in the hospital for alcohol poisoning, not injuries from the crash. Bobby told Dean he'd take the Impala, pay him too much for it, then loan him a junker until John could afford a better car. But the Impala was where he and Sam had carved their initials, where they'd lost legos in the vent and stuck the little toy soldier in the ash tray so he'd protect them from monsters. He couldn't just let it go.

Bare minimum, then. "My dad was, uh," Dean cleared his throat, "inebriated, and he crashed the car. Our family friend owns a garage, and he was gonna give us a good price for the scrap metal, but I convinced him to let me keep it. I worked on her for months."

He remembered laying in the back seat, popping out a huge dent with his feet. He's managed to yank out the damaged fan belt from under the crushed carburetor, and he'd let Sam use it as a tie to play lawyer. He told Castiel about it, about putting his Baby back together piece by piece. Castiel chuckled and nodded and _listened_. This wasn't an authority figure sitting next to him, it was something else. Dean hoped Castiel would call it 'friends.'

Eventually, Dean fell silent. He had been rambling, but Castiel was smiling, and Dean had to smile at that.

"We only have about forty-five minutes left," he said, giving Dean a wry look.

"Oh," Dean snapped his open mouth shut. He'd been babbling for over an hour, god he must have looked so stupid. But Castiel was smiling, and it was so warm and honest that Dean had to look away. Damn, he was so far gone on him. It should scare him, and it kind of did, but his nerves weren't as sharp as they were before. "Thanks, Mr. Novak." He returned the smile.

"Castiel," Castiel said abruptly. Dean furrowed his brow. Yes, he knew his name. "You may call me Castiel." Any words after that were incomprehensible to Dean's brain. He wanted Dean to call him by his first name. Dean had been doing that in his head already, but it wasn't a childish fantasy anymore.

"Castiel," the name tasted like chocolate in Dean's mouth. It felt so _indulgent_ that he almost laughed. "Castiel it is then."

o o o

Dean cracked his neck and squared his shoulders. It was time to shine. _Knock knock._ "Cas? It's me." After a moment, Castiel emerged from his hotel room sans trench coat, looking amazing in his black tailored suit. It tapered down to his waist and hugged his strong shoulders so well—

 _Focus. Be a PA._ He smiled. "Mrs. Mills and Mr. Crowley are downstairs already. "We've got a motivational speaker first, it's—"

"Dick Roman, I know," Castiel muttered, leading Dean to the elevator. "Prepare yourself."

They stepped into the elevator together, and as the doors close, Dean realized he'd never been in a space this small with only Castiel. Fuck, he could _feel_ Castiel next to him, like a space heater. A really sexy space heater.

The elevator seemed to crawl along, and Dean failed to keep the images out of his head—Castiel pushing him against the wall, hitting the 'stop elevator' button and taking Dean right there.

Dean swallowed thickly, suddenly incredibly thirsty. He meant to glance at Castiel, just to see if he had noticed how affected Dean was, but green eyes met blue. Castiel was looking at him like… like he was dessert. His eyes were dark, with a singular focus on Dean, like nothing else existed. That was the kind of look that Dean imagined Castiel would give him before he fucked him into the mattress, when Dean begged him for more until he couldn't speak.

 _Ding!_ The elevator opened before Dean remembered to close his mouth. He must have looked like an idiot. He was practically salivating, dammit.

To his embarrassment, Castiel turned and walked out of the elevator like he hadn't just eye-fucked Dean into next week. Maybe he hadn't. Maybe Dean was imagining the look because he wanted it so damn badly. His chest tightened with that thought, and he followed his boss silently into the ballroom.

Dean took notes, because even if he had a huge ridiculous unrequited crush on his boss, he was going to be a damn good personal assistant all on his own. It was hard to take note of anything this smarmy Dick said, though. He couldn't mock him aloud, like he really wanted, so he settled on typing out his feelings on the tablet.

As he finished a little note about Dick being more of a Shamoo-reject than a shark, Castiel chuckled. He was smiling, thank god. Dean couldn't help his grin, relieved that Castiel didn't realize (or had kindly ignored) that Dean had been ogling him in the elevator.

After that hour of torture was over, they were all shepherded out into a foyer to the networking reception. Before they could go hide into a corner, a bald, dark-skinned man clapped Castiel on the back. "Is that Castiel Novak I see?" he asked with a grin.

"Hello, Uriel. I was unaware that you were coming." Castiel smiled politely, and Dean tried not to shift uncomfortably. It was his _job_ to do this kind of stuff.

"It appears that with promotions come more responsibilities." It was then that he seemed to notice Dean fidgeting at Castiel's elbow. "And who is this?"

"This is Dean Winchester, my personal assistant." He gave Dean an apologetic look. "Dean, this is Uriel Angelo, a friend of mine from grad school."

Dean remembered to stand straight and shake his hand firmly. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Angelo," he said, then retreated to Castiel's side.

"They start so young these days," Uriel gave the Castiel a wry smile, as if Dean weren't even there. He did his best not to twitch.

"Sir," a brunette with sweeping hair stepped up to Uriel. "Bartholomew just arrived."

"Excellent! He'll be happy to see you, Castiel. Inias, why don't you ask Winchester about the company? See how he likes it there?"

Dean's eyes widened as Uriel pulled Castiel away. He gave Dean a somber and apologetic look, then he was gone, and this dude remained.

"Dean, right?" he asked, holding out his hand.

Maybe this wouldn't be awful. Just some small talk and company stuff, right? "Yeah. Inias?"

"You got it." He smiled, but there was a suspicious glint in his eye. He leaned against the nearest table and cocked his head. "Is the Novak & Sons group heading straight home after this, or are you going to stay in Baltimore another day? There's a lot to do around here."

"We're heading home." Dean gave him a polite smile. "Business to do, you know."

"Mm," Inias hummed noncommittally. "In that case, you should drop by my company's suite later. Some of us are going for a few drinks and it's going to be a lot of fun."

Dean's eye actually did twitch then. He had to be nice, he couldn't embarrass Castiel at a big conference like this. "Thanks, but we've got a pretty full list of things to run through. It might take a while."

Inias leaned in close. "That's okay," he murmured, "I can be quick."

"Dean," came Castiel's voice, and Dean almost groaned in relief. He put a hand on Dean's shoulder, and Dean couldn't help but lean into the touch.

"Oh, hey Cas," he said casually.

"Inias," Castiel acknowledged him. "I apologize for the intrusion, but my employees and I are going to dinner now. Dean?"

 _Yes thank god._ "See you around," he gave Inias a polite smile.

"Hope so." Yeah. Not gonna happen.

Castiel squeezed his shoulder and dropped it as soon as they turned. "Thanks," Dean murmured when they were out of view. With Castiel here now, he could breathe again. "That was, uh, uncomfortable."

Castiel glanced at him quickly, then looked away. "He was…" he left the sentence hanging.

"Hitting on me, yeah." Dean chuckled.

"And you prefer women." It was a statement, but Dean could tell Castiel meant it as a question. Was he uncomfortable about their staring earlier? He told Dean earlier about his sexuality. Would it be weird if Dean told him he liked guys too? Would it sound like a come on?

He wouldn't lie. As casually as he could, he said, "No, actually. Just not him."

"Oh," was all Castiel said. Dean snuck a glance at him, but his face was calm and blank.

Dean felt that tightening in his chest again. He hoped blank meant okay.

 **A/N:** Does Cas like him? We might never know… Please review!


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** Talesofwovensilver, I'm glad you picked up on that! It's always fascinating to see that an obvious running monologue in your head looks completely different to the people around you.

Now—Charlie and Balthazar, and nightmares. Takes place during chapter five.

 **Chapter Six**

It was remarkably strange, being with Castiel's friends. The blonde one, Balthazar, handed him two shots of tequila, and he downed them immediately. He had a feeling he'd need them.

Next to him, Castiel took his shot—damn, this was surreal—and made a pained face.

"You alright there?" Dean asked, grinning at his scrunched up nose.

Castiel took the other shot and his nose scrunched up again. "It's been a while."

"Dean!" That was the redhead, Charlie. "How long have you been Cassie's PA?"

Dean chuckled. "Only a few days, actually."

"Balthazar," Castiel interrupted. "I thought you went back to London last year."

Dean wished for another shot. It was evident that Castiel wanted to talk to his friends. He wondered if he should excuse himself. But then again, Castiel was half turned towards him, as if trying to keep an eye on him. Strange.

"Vodka tonic, love," he murmured to a passing waitress, then turned back. "A case with my name popped up, and I couldn't say no."

Castiel leaned towards Dean. "Balthazar is a criminal defense lawyer."

"The best of my kind." Dean made an approving noise. Sam would get a kick out of this guy. That would be hilarious watching those two, like a swan and a puppy discussing law. Dean shook his head—he shouldn't be imagining his brother meeting Castiel's friends.

"Humble too," Charlie laughed, then turned to Dean. "Where did Castiel find you anyway?"

"I actually worked at Novak & Sons for a few weeks before the promotion," Dean tried to smile casually, taking a sip from the whiskey set in front of him.

"A few weeks, huh?" she glanced at Castiel. The promotion had been very sudden. Did Castiel usually have a big vetting process? Were there things that Dean wasn't qualified for?

"You're supposed to be in New York," Castiel changed the subject again, and Dean forced himself to remain calm. He took a gulp of whiskey, because that would help.

"I took a break," Charlie shrugged. "Owning an engineering company and being a female, if incredibly gay, is actually not fun," she pouted. "Plus, the company is in good hands. I left Dorothy in charge." She wiggled her eyebrows.

"You left your wife to run your company?" Balthazar's eyes widened, and Dean's did too.

"Wife?" Castiel's did too.

Charlie grinned. "I liked it, so I put a ring on it. And she _is_ a VP, so it shouldn't be too difficult for her."

"How is it?" Dean asked. "Working with your wife, I mean." Charlie worked with her wife. She was her wife's boss and they were married and it sounded like it was working. That was putting thoughts in Dean's head and he was trying really hard to keep his eyes on Charlie but dammit if he didn't imagine driving back from work with Castiel in shotgun to wherever he lived and calling it home.

"Surprisingly easy," she continued, and Dean was grateful no one could hear his inner monologue. "We do work at work and we don't bring it home unless necessary. We both have a good work ethic, and I don't treat her differently because of it."

Castiel downed his drink, and Dean followed suit.

Luckily, the conversation turned to stories about Castiel's college days, and he felt way more relaxed. The two additional whiskeys helped too. He was just on the edge of buzzed and drunk. He called it the sweet spot, and he intended to stay there.

Balthazar eventually turned his attention to him. "Tell us about you, Dean."

He set down his whiskey and leaned forward. "Whaddaya want to know?" he asked.

"Got a lady friend in your life?" Charlie put her chin on her palm, as if listening to a story.

Dean chuckled awkwardly. "Nope."

"Gentleman friend?" Balthazar offered helpfully.

 _Do not look at Cas_ , he told himself. Dean swallowed thickly. "Not at the moment."

"Ooh, a prospect?" Charlie giggled.

Fuck fuck fuck. That wasn't where he intended the conversation to go. _Do not fucking look at Cas, god dammit_. "I don't really know," he answered as truthfully as he could. Castiel wasn't a prospect. He couldn't be. But damn, did Dean want him to be. Charlie worked with her wife. Maybe it could work out… "I guess we'll see," he finished his whiskey.

Immediately, Balthazar slid another one towards the Winchester. "Dean, my boy," he said, quite clearly drunk himself. "Tell me about this brother of yours."

Talking about Sam, he could definitely do that. "Man, Sammy's great. In his first year of law school and only twenty-one, kid's a genius. You'd be proud."

"Where does he go?" Balthazar asked.

Dean grinned. "Stanford law. Pricey, but worth it. The kid'll be buying me a house soon enough."

"Rather impressive. Do you see him often?"

"Not as much as I'd like," he sipped his drink.

"Well, if he's ever as rich and famous as me, I'm sure you'll be seeing him every weekend." Balthazar clinked his glass against Dean's, and he chuckled. "It'll only take him a decade or so to get that far."

"Like my dry spell," Dean snorted, and Balthazar fell off his chair laughing. "Okay, I think we've had enough for tonight."

It seemed like only seconds until they were alone in the elevator again. Dean didn't feel that sharp tingle of sexual tension, but he felt a pleasant warmth in his stomach, which wasn't entirely the whiskey's fault.

Castiel was leaning against the side of the elevator, only slightly more sober than Dean. "What were you and Charlie talking about?" Dean asked.

"Jus' how my life's goin'," Castiel slurred a little, one hand on the wall for support.

Dean chuckled. "You don't drink much, do you?" he asked.

Castiel shook his head. "The last time I was this drunk was at Gabriel's thirty-fifth birthday party."

"How old is he now?"

"Thirty-nine." Dean giggled, and the elevator dinged to signal their floor.

They walked down the hall, which seemed smaller than usual. Dean's door came first, and they stopped just as they did the night before.

"G'night, Dean," Castiel said as always.

"Night Cas," Dean replied.

Neither of them moved. Dean couldn't tell if he'd just licked his lips or not, but Castiel looked delicious. He could almost taste the whiskey sour on his lips. He would only have to lean forward, just a little.

But Castiel straightened up and moved back, and Dean forced the nice feeling down. He turned without a word and swiped his card. The little light flash red. Weird. Dean frowned and tried again, but got the same red light.

Dean groaned and thunked his head on the door. The keycard said 215, which was Castiel's room. He had Castiel's spare, but lost his own.

He could hear Castiel stop and look. "Lost my keycard," Dean mumbled.

"There's one in your hand," Castiel nodded at the card Dean was holding.

Dean thunked his head against the door again. "It's your spare, just in case you lost yours. 'S okay, I'll just-"

"Stay in my room," Castiel blurted. What? Dean looked at him with wide eyes, and Castiel cleared his throat. "I mean, my room has a couch. It's really late and you should sleep or the plane ride will be hell tomorrow."

Somewhere deep inside, Dean knew that it wouldn't take long to get a replacement key and that it was totally unnecessary to stay in Castiel's room, but that was buried under the loud voice screaming, _Go sleep with Cas!_

He wasn't going to actually _sleep with_ Castiel, but it was a good offer. "Okay. Thanks, Cas," he murmured. Castiel held the door open like a gentleman, and Dean was suddenly in a hotel room alone with Castiel. What did he do? Did he just go sit on the couch? Did Castiel have some bedtime routine to do? He looked sexy enough to have a bedtime routine.

All he did was reach into his suitcase. "Here, uh, pajamas," Castiel handed him a spare pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. "You can take the bed, it's too hard for me anyway."

"You sure?" he asked quietly. He almost wanted Castiel to change his mind so they could laugh about it and Dean could go sit in his room and rub one out, but on the other hand, this tension wasn't entirely sexual. It was the kind of cuddle-in-bed-together-after-a-long-day feeling, and Dean could picture it so vividly.

"The couch will be better for my back." They stood, staring at each other for a moment, before Dean nodded and disappeared to the bathroom.

Immediately, Dean splashed some cold water on his face. "Get it together, Winchester," he whispered to his reflection. "You will not do weird shit in your sleep. No nightmares, no sleepwalking, and no embarrassing yourself." He wanted this to not be a big deal, so regardless of what Castiel thought of him, he wouldn't have whatever he did engrained in his memory.

After changing, Dean slipped out of the bathroom. He headed straight for the bed, but couldn't help the little flush that crept up his cheeks when Castiel gave him a little once over.

It was probably nothing. "Thanks, Cas," Dean murmured, snuggling into the large bed.

"Of course, Dean," Castiel's deep voice rumbled before he sank into sleep.

He slept deeply, the heaviness in his bones keeping him under, even when his mind sharpened. One second he was unconscious, and the next, his father stood in the living room over a cowering Sammy.

 _It was so vivid that it knocked the breath out of Dean. The television was on, some news channel, and the smell of burnt chicken nuggets filled the dingy room._

 _"_ _What did I say about fucking up the kitchen?" John spat at Sam. He couldn't have been older than five._

 _"_ _I just wanna make Dean dinner." Fat tears rolled down little Sam's face. "I'm sorry!"_

 _John raised his hand, but Dean grabbed it before he could do anything. "Dad, it wasn't his fault," Dean pleaded. "Don't hit him, he didn't know."_

 _"_ _Don't you talk back to me, boy!" John brought his hand down and it cracked across Dean's face. Pain ran through his skin and his ears rang a little, but it wasn't anything he couldn't handle._

 _"_ _Stop it!" Sam cried. It would only enrage John. Sam didn't understand that their dad would stop if they showed no fear. The more Sam yelled, the more likely he'd be hurt._

 _With a grimace, Dean opened the closet behind them and shoved Sammy in. John was drunk enough not to notice, and Dean was the only target left. He'd had worse than this. He was lucky enough to only take two more silent hits before John got bored._

 _"_ _Bring me a beer," John muttered, collapsing back onto the couch._

 _"_ _Yes, sir." Once the can was by his elbow, Dean ran back to the closet. "Shhh, Sammy, it's okay," he whispered as his brother clung to him. "You're safe, he ain't gonna hurt you."_

 _That was when Sam learned, because he hid his sobs in Dean's shirt, so John wouldn't hear. "Shhh," Dean repeated. "It's okay."_

"Dean!"

 _"_ _Shhh," Dean began tearing up._

"Dean!"

Dean felt his eyes fly open and he sat bolt upright in bed. A bed, he was in a bed. Not the old Winchester house. And a pair of blue eyes was in front of him. "Cas?" he asked and grabbed his arm, in case he wasn't real.

"Yeah, it's okay," the Novak murmured. "It's just a nightmare, you're fine."

Just a nightmare. Just like always. John was dead and they were safe. Sammy was safe. Dean swiped at his eyes, forcing himself not to cry. He just wanted some rest, for one night.

He pulled Castiel down with him. They needed sleep, and in his still-foggy brain, it felt right. In the next second, he rolled into Castiel's warmth and sunk back into unconsciousness. Castiel was safe.

 **A/N:** That was the nightmare Dean had in TMTC. And though Cas was worried, Dean needed him, didn't he? Review and let me know!


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:** Thank you to those of you who reviewed and read! Thank you for bearing with me through the spotty updates. I fuckin' love you guys.

Now, a phone call and feelings. Takes place during chapter six.

 **Chapter Seven**

Castiel didn't say a single word about last night, but there was something a little different through their flight. And here in the shared car ride to their respective homes, Dean could really feel it.

He hoped Castiel wasn't uncomfortable with the, uh, cuddling. They were drunk, who could blame them? Castiel could have pulled away or tucked Dean in, but he got under the covers when Dean pulled him in. Dean hoped he hadn't felt pressured or anything.

Jesus Rollerblading Christ.

He was about to open his mouth for some sort of apology when Castiel cut him off. "What did you think of the convention?"

Dean blinked. Flying with Castiel, learning about each other's sexualities, drinking with Castiel's friends, cuddling him after his nightmare. "It was… interesting." To say the least. "Not anything like I expected."

Castiel leaned back. "We won't be going to another for a long time. I dislike conventions," he muttered.

Dean frowned. "Were you forced to go or something? The only people you ever smiled for there were Balthazar and Charlie."

"I just needed a little time out of South Dakota, and this was available." He sighed, and Dean nodded. After a moment, he said, "Charlie and Balthazar like you."

"Really?" Dean assumed that, from the laughter and hugs, but it was a nice confirmation. He grinned.

Castiel gave him one of his tiny smiles, the ones that came naturally when he was really and truly happy. "Yes, they were quite taken with you."

"They're pretty great," he chuckled. "You sounded like you had fun in college."

A loud buzzing interrupted Castiel's smile, and he answered it quickly. "Gabriel?" Dean sat back, letting Castiel have the call, but he saw Castiel's face go white. He looked scared, and that honestly scared Dean. What had happened that was awful enough to make him look like that?

"Dean," Castiel said. His voice was forced-calm, Dean knew it all too well. "Please tell the driver your address now."

He gave his address to the driver without taking his eyes off Castiel. The guy looked like he just learned someone was trying to kill him. Dean could see his elevated pulse in his neck, and he had to do something.

"Are you okay?" he asked quietly, putting a reassuring hand on Castiel's arm. Kind of like he had last night before he pulled him under the covers.

Castiel nodded, but Dean saw right through that bullshit. He was scared, and Dean had never seen Castiel scared. "I will be," he insisted, and Dean dropped the subject.

When they got to Dean's apartment building, he grabbed his suitcase before Castiel or the driver could get to it. But he couldn't just let Castiel go, not with that ghostly look still on his face. "Are you sure you're okay?" he asked again.

Castiel sighed. "Just some unwanted visitors. I've been assured that they'll be gone soon."

Dean looked up at the tall apartment building behind him. His place had a couch that was a little harder than his bed. Perfect for Castiel's back. Was that crossing boundaries? He would only be repaying him for his kindness… "You could stay with me, if you need to," he offered after a minute.

Castiel gave Dean a smile, a real one, and Dean relaxed a little. "I appreciate the offer very much, but I sadly have a lot of work to do before tomorrow. Two meetings to prepare for, as you probably know."

Dean remembered the calendar Rebecca had transferred to his iPad. They were long meetings. He chuckled at the thought of Castiel having to sit through them. "At least let me know when you're home safe, okay?"

"I will," Castiel assured him. He looked so intense right then, leaning forward like he wanted to leap over the sidewalk towards him. Dean held his breath.

But Castiel didn't leap over the sidewalk towards him. He nodded, and Dean nodded back, and he got back into the car and left.

The suitcase felt heavier and heavier as Dean climbed to the third floor. What the hell had happened to make Castiel so panicked? He was worried, and it was the type of worry that would eat him away if he didn't do something.

So he did just about the worst thing he could do. He called Sam.

"'Ey Dean," Sam said, chewing something on the other line.

"Heya, Sammy, whacha eatin'?" Dean feigned calm

Sam stopped chewing. "You don't care about my quinoa, what's wrong?"

"Nothing's _wrong_ , per se," he drew out his words.

"What did you do?"

Dean ran a hand down his face. "I think I really like Cas."

There was a pause. "It's 'Cas' now?" Dean opened his mouth to sass Sam, but he didn't get a chance. "Look, I'm really glad you want to talk about any sort of feelings. It's like, healthy behavior. But what happened that's making you willingly tell _me_ about this?"

Dean sunk onto his couch and sighed. "There was… an incident." Sam waited, and Dean forced out all his words at once so he couldn't think about it. "We were at the conference and we got drunk with his friends and I lost my keycard and I slept in his room but I had a nightmare and he fucking _cuddled_ me back to sleep and then we came back but something happened and I'm worried about him and I don't know how to deal with _feelings_ ," he huffed.

Sam let out a low whistle. "So that's what conferences are like."

Dean let out a mildly panicked laugh. "You gotta help me out. You're the one who deals with this emotions crap."

"Okay, okay," Sam rustled something on the line, like couch cushions. "First of all, how do you know you really like him and don't just want to sleep with him?"

Dean felt his cheeks color by himself in the room. "I mean, I do want that, but…" How did he put it? That Castiel listened to him and cared about what he said and made him feel special and protected? That someone as smart and perfect and successful as him actually gave a shit about Dean? "I get movie butterflies, I guess. Like I feel all weird and tingly. And I could listen to him talk about smart shit all day. I—I want to be better for him." He covered his face in embarrassment.

"Oh wow, okay," Sam murmured. "So you definitely like him. Does he like you?"

"I don't know," Dean mumbled. "Sometimes it seems like we have this intense connection, and other times it's like he doesn't even know I'm there."

"Hmm," Sam hummed noncommittally.

"What do I do?!" Dean almost yelled.

Sam laughed, then sobered up. "I mean, you have three choices. One, you could assume he doesn't like you and do your best to move on. Two, you could pack up and find a new job so you don't have to make the choice either way." Dean closed his eyes. There was no way he could leave Castiel. "Or three," Sam continued, "you could go for it. Maybe look up the company policy on relationships, but it usually says _discouraged_ and not _prohibited_. So it's your choice."

Dean let himself fall back onto the couch. He was quiet for a long moment. There had never been any possibility of anything like this for him. There had never been anyone like this for him. Not Benny, not even Lisa was even close to how Castiel made him feel. Castiel's stoicism was adorable, and he never put on a show for anyone. He was always himself, even if he was awkward or intimidating. And there was a chance he cared about Dean.

"When's the last time you were happy?" Sam asked, startling Dean out of his thoughts.

"What do you mean?" Dean asked.

"Like happy, really happy."

"Well, the day you graduated was pretty sweet, Salutatorian and everything. There was the day Baby hit a hundred and forty miles an hour," Dean thought back. "The day Ellen put apple pie on the Roadhouse menu, that was—"

"Dean," Sam interrupted. "When was the last time you were happy for you?"

Dean was quiet. How did he respond to that? He didn't really know what that felt like. To be happy for himself? Good things didn't happen for him. Not Cas-Level good.

"Look, if he does happen to feel the same way, I think you should go for it. You deserve to be happy."

Dean could imagine how it would feel to be with Castiel, wrapped in his arms again, but awake, maybe playing the questions game. He'd listen to Castiel talk about the inner workings of Robert Frost while Dean made him dinner. He'd finally, _finally_ kiss him, and Dean would get to feel how soft those cupid's bow lips felt.

"Okay," Dean said, his voice thick. "Thanks, Sammy."

They hung up, and Dean dragged himself to bed. He couldn't sleep though, Castiel still hadn't confirmed that he was safe at home.

He was just about ready to get up and go for a run when his phone buzzed.

 _Castiel: I am home safely_.

Dean sighed audibly in relief. He didn't hesitate to reply.

 _Dean: Good, I was starting to worry haha_

Even though he knew it wasn't "socially conventional" to double text so fast, Dean kept going. Castiel had looked awful in the car, and he needed to know Dean was there.

 _Dean: Lemme know if you want to talk about whatevers happening, k?_

That was okay to say, right? He was Castiel's personal assistant, He'd _always_ be there to talk. Ignoring the fact that he'd be there regardless of his job.

His phone buzzed again.

 _Castiel: You will be the first person I come to._

A stupid smile crossed Dean's face, and he settled back into his mattress.

 _Dean: Good :)_

Then a moment later,

 _Castiel: I will see you tomorrow morning._

 _Dean: Gocha. Sweet dreams Cas_

 _Castiel: Sweet dreams to you as well, Dean._

Dean could almost hear his voice in those words. Kind of deep and imposing, like he was the first day they met, but with an undertone of the closeness that had grown between them.

That night he slept comfortably, the mild worry over Castiel wiped away by the memories of sleeping in Castiel's bed. Though half unconscious, he remembered the feeling of Castiel cuddling up behind him in his sleep. It was just a reaction, it didn't mean anything, but it made Dean feel warm and safe and loved.

He couldn't wait to go back to work.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:** Hello dear readers! Confession: in July I kind of… left the country. I did some backpacking, some self-reflection, and came back about a month ago. I now have a job that required much time and effort (which is why I haven't posted since I got back), but I'm working on time management.

With that being said, I have not forgotten you, my readers. A few more of these chapters are already written, and I'm going to see this story through if it kills me.

This chapter is very long because I had to cram all the chapter seven nonsense in it. Dean is very emotional. Hold onto your seatbelts, kids. Takes place during chapter seven.

 **Chapter Eight**

"Hey, Sammy," Dean said into the phone. His back cracked as he plopped down onto the couch. Since he'd ushered Castiel into the twenty-first century with his sweet new tech setup, his job had been a little easier. It was no cakewalk, though.

Dean was relieved to find that he was competent enough to get the job done, and Castiel seemed to relax a little more every day. He didn't have those faint dark circles under his eyes anymore, and he had gained a few much-needed pounds.

As the days passed, Dean found himself fascinated by the many facets of the blue-eyed man. The stories he told, even in his ever-professional voice, were captivating. Dean learned about Castiel extensive knowledge on various weird subjects, especially the habits of bees, and how he liked to tell jokes so awful they were funny again. He was so quiet, but he said so much to Dean, like every word meant something important. He told Dean more than he'd told anyone before.

And _god_ Dean was losing control over himself. Yeah, maybe he'd let himself innocently touch Castiel every so often. Just casually. Harmless. He didn't know if Castiel meant to do the same, but his personal space bubble seemed to grow smaller and smaller until it was commonplace for Dean to smell his shampoo or see the little flecks of navy in his intense blue eyes.

He wanted him so badly. He wanted everything Castiel could give him, whether it was teaching him poetry or cuddling him on his couch or fucking him into his mattress, Dean wanted it. He'd never felt that buzzing in his head or the bubbly warmth in his stomach before. He had honest-to-god _feelings_ for this man.

He'd held out for a while now, but the feelings threatened to explode more and more everyday. So he'd broken down and called Sam again. He needed to _really_ sort this shit out, and he wasn't ready to tell Jo or Bobby. They actually lived here, and if he didn't answer their calls, they'd just break down his door.

"Hey Dean," Sam turned his music off, something modern with a slow beat. "What's up?"

"You sittin' down?"

There was a little pause. "What did you do?"

"I didn't _do_ anything, Jesus. I mean, not really. It's just that—" Dean put a hand over his eyes. "I don't even know. There's just this stuff, and I don't deal with things, y'know?"

"Dean, will you speak English, please?"

Dean took a deep breath. "I am officially admitting to you, and only to you, that I'm in love with Cas."

There was another pause, and then. "Holy shit, man."

Dean laughed nervously. "Right? Who knew I could ever fall in love? And actually say so out loud?"

"That's… wow." Sam paused for the third time, and Dean's mouth was dry. "Dean, please be careful."

"I know, I know, he's my boss, but company policy does say _discouraged_ , not—"

"That's now what I mean." Sam sighed. "If it was just a crush, just _like_ , then you'd be fine if he said no. But these kinds of feelings… they hurt, Dean."

"I know," he said, voice tight. It hurt to be away from Castiel, like he didn't have enough oxygen until he was in his presence.

"I just want you to be prepared," Sam said. "I hope this works out for you, I really do. You deserve to be happy."

"But…" Dean said, waiting for him to finish.

"But you don't really know what the signs are to figure out if he likes or loves you. I just don't want to see you hurt."

"Well," Dean forced his voice to be steady, "I guess we'll have to see."

o o o

Castiel's storage space reminded him of a dragon's cave, except instead of gold, there was paper.

He found receipts, contact information, legal case files, blueprints, even unsigned sketches of abstract building concepts. There were so many boxes, Dean's head swam. It was already past three—they were going to be there all night.

"Cas?" Dean knocked once, then let himself into Castiel's office. "I found all your handwritten files."

Castiel tilted his head. "Well done?"

Dean half huffed, half laughed. "Let me rephrase that. I found eight years of handwritten stuff that needs to be put on a computer."

Castiel seemed to wilt. "Really?"

Dean rubbed his eyes. "Yeah. Two questions: do you have whiskey, and when is it appropriate to start drinking?"

Castiel gave him the company credit card with a little smile and an order for two of whatever Dean wanted for dinner. He was at the roadhouse in no time flat, with a raised eyebrow from Jo.

"Two cheeseburgers, huh? I'm not surprised at the whole bottle of bourbon, but—"

"C'mon, Jo, I'm still on the clock," Dean bounced on the balls of his feet as she swiped the card.

"I know you're keeping a secret, Dean Winchester, and I'm going to find out if it's who I think it is." She grinned as he stuck his tongue out.

It took about thirty minutes to get back to the office, then an entire hour carrying those god damn boxes up to Castiel's office. Dean enjoyed Castiel's happy noises at the burger and patted himself on the back. When they finally got to work, it went quickly.

They talked about the current political climate while they sorted papers. They talked about the new movies that had recently come out while Dean scanned blueprints and sketches onto the computer. They talked about some happy memories of Dean's childhood while Dean typed out several handwritten pages.

Moving around and the bourbon and Castiel made him warm, and he felt comfortable rolling up his sleeves and tossing his tie to the side. Castiel did the same, and Dean couldn't help but admire his forearms. They were back on the questions game, and Dean asked Castiel if he worked out, to which Castiel laughed and replied that he only ran.

Dean had a stack of invoices in one hand and his whiskey on the other when he blurted, "Tell me about your last relationship."

Castiel furrowed his brow adorably, thinking back. "The last _real_ relationship... Oh, that would be Ezekiel." Castiel looked a little wistful. "I was just out of grad school, and he interned at the firm I'd just been hired in. Lasted about seven months, I think."

Dean blinked. He'd been out of grad school for like ten years. "A while, huh?"

Castiel smiled a little and tilted his head. "And yourself, Dean?"

Dean swallowed thickly. He hadn't _really_ dated Benny, which left… "I, uh, dated a girl named Lisa my junior year of high school." He felt his cheeks heat, and he hoped it looked like it was from the whiskey.

"Is your preference of men a recent thing?"

Dean set his glass down and leaned back in his chair. "No, I just... I didn't think it would be best if my dad knew."

Castiel offered him a sympathetic smile. "And after your father died? Did you not find anyone to pursue?"

Dean set down his papers and studied his glass, laughing nervously. "I actually haven't ever been with a guy. You know." Dean almost cringed at himself. "In that way."

He risked a glance back at Castiel, who looked as surprised as Dean had ever seen him. That fact made him seem even more childish than he was, but he didn't mind the look from Castiel. It was kind of adorable, really.

Castiel slid down to the floor, probably trying to relax. He had this look in his eyes that was mostly unreadable, but it had an undercurrent of intensity. Dean didn't know what kind of intensity, though.

He tossed the invoices in a box of papers and picked it up. He tried to step past Castiel, but before he knew it, his foot was sliding across the papers on the floor and he was on his ass.

He was surprised and a little sore, and for a moment, everything was still. Then Castiel burst out laughing, harder than Dean had ever heard him before. It was infectious, and Dean laughed too.

They ended up laying on the floor. When Castiel propped himself up on his elbow, Dean noticed just exactly how close they were. It was the closest they'd ever been, in fact.

Castiel had stopped laughing. His eyes were wide and so damn blue. It was like the ocean surrounded his blown-out pupils. His lips were parted, a little chapped, but his tongue was its correct shade of pink, since Dean had made his coffee less scalding. He blinked, and Dean could see his dark lashes brush his cheeks.

Dean felt something warm on his stomach—Castiel's hand. Castiel was _touching_ him. His hand came up to Castiel's arm, gripping his bicep lightly, keeping him there. He didn't want him to pull away.

"Dean," Castiel murmured, a statement in itself. His name sounded so different in his voice, in that moment. It was soft and deep and maybe a little loving. Dean's brain was too fuzzy to push that thought away. The warmth he was feeling spread until he could no longer take the inches between them.

"Kiss me," he commanded. And Castiel complied.

It was like nothing Dean had ever experienced before. For all the years Castiel hadn't been with anyone, he kissed Dean with finesse, with elegance. Dean felt as if he were a grand piano Castiel was playing, and the music was the feeling swelling in his stomach. Castiel's lips guided his in a frenzied dance, and his hand slid from his stomach to his hip in a firm, possessive grip.

The movement woke Dean up, and Dean threaded his hands through Castiel's nearly-black hair. It was softer than it looked, and Dean ran his fingernails lightly over his scalp. Castiel's knee pushed between Dean's legs and he held Dean close.

This was happening. God, this was really happening. And Dean was going to give it all he got.

Castiel's tongue ran across the seam of Dean's lips, and he parted them. Dean may not have dated many people, but he'd made out with enough to know that he was an amazing kisser. He twisted his tongue around Castiel's, sliding it along Castiel's bottom lip before he nipped it. The groan it drew out of him was music to Dean's ears.

Dean could feel the hardness in Castiel's slacks and _damn_ if that didn't turn him on like crazy. He flexed his hips, trying to show Castiel that he, too, was hard and that they should do something about it together.

Then Castiel's lips were gone and Dean was being hauled to his feet and pulled. Castiel's lips crashed back onto Dean's, more wild than before, looking to claim, to possess. He pulled at Dean's hips and Dean straddled him in the chair.

Part of his brain, the words part, had gone completely numb. He was nothing but an entity of feeling. He was heat and electricity and frantic heartbeats and he needed more of Castiel. Whatever he was allowed to have.

Dean kissed his way down to the juncture of Castiel's neck and shoulder, nipping at it and soothing the flesh with his tongue. The sounds Castiel was making only made him harder, if that was possible.

He pulled the ends of Dean's shirt out of his dress pants and smoothed his burning hands up Dean's overly-sensitive skin. Dean knew he was making noise, but he couldn't help but roll his hips against Castiel's. He was tracing Dean's skin in a way that made him shiver with pleasure.

Dean needed that. He needed to feel Castiel's skin. He nearly ripped open Castiel's shirt and finally felt the muscle he knew was under there. He traced Castiel's collarbones, ran his palms down his sides, and pressed his fingers into the skin above his belt.

Castiel drank him like he was water in the desert. He could feel Castiel's need reverberate through him as he mouthed down Dean's chest. Dean felt wet heat cover his nipple and whimpered.

"Cas," he choked out, "I need…"

"What do you need, Dean?" Castiel growled into Dean's ear. His grip on Dean's hips was almost bruising, but Dean loved it.

"I… fuck," Castiel was rutting his hips against Dean's, and he tried to form words. "I need you." He managed to tangle his fingers in Castiel's hair and pulled him in for another searing kiss.

He felt Castiel's hand ever so slowly make its way to Dean'd belt, and when he released him from the confines of his pants, Dean almost cried. He did let out a little sob of pleasure when Castiel traced his length with his fingers.

"You too," he grunted, tugging on Castiel's hair.

Castiel made quick work of his slacks and briefs, pulling himself free and rubbing against Dean. Dean rolled his hips, reveling in the feelings that shot through him. Castiel must have felt the same thing because he was panting into Dean's mouth.

Castiel finally, _finally_ reached into Dean's boxers and gripped him. His fingers were hot and just tight enough to make Dean squirm, and he could feel himself moaning into Castiel. Then his length was free and slid against Castiel's and he had to force himself not to come right then and there.

"Fuck," Dean choked, bucking up into Castiel's hand.

Castiel swiped his thumb against Dean's head, gathering the precome there, and used it to ease his fist over their lengths. Dean could feel Castiel trying to take it slow, but his strokes were almost erratic with want.

"God fuck Cas," he babbled. Heat was pooling in Dean's stomach, but he was trying to hold on.

"Dean," his name was like a prayer, and Dean shivered.

"I can't," he moaned. "Cas," he buried his head in Castiel's shoulder.

He felt one hand move from his waist and travel down, trailing his hot fingers all the way down to Dean's entrance, where no one else had gone. He brushed lightly, and new sensations swept Dean away. He tried to hold on, but Castiel growled, "Come for me, Dean."

He was bowled over by the force of his orgasm, fire and lightening rocketing up his spine. He felt Castiel's body seize up and cried out, the sensation peaking until Dean felt like he'd black out.

They came down slowly, Dean resting his forehead against Castiel's. When he opened his eyes, all he saw was that warm, melty blue. His eyes were lidded, and there was just a hint of a smile on his face. It looked like happiness and affection and all the little feelings Dean had collected since getting to know him.

"Wanted this for so long," Dean murmured. He kissed Castiel gently, and Castiel brought his hand to Dean's face. He held Dean like he was precious, like he deserved this, and the sensation was heady. Castiel's strokes on his jaw were light, and Dean almost wanted to cry with how full his heart felt.

After a few moments Castiel pulled away. He didn't look open and loving anymore. He looked… sad? He ran his thumb across Dean's reddened lip, and when Dean smiled, he didn't smile back.

There Dean was, sitting on Castiel's lap with sticky liquid on both of their chests, having just felt the best he's ever felt in his god damn life, and suddenly there was a barrier between them. His eyes no longer burned with intensity. "We should get cleaned up," Castiel murmured.

Dean felt cold. What had he done wrong?

They cleaned up silently in the men's room, Dean staring at Castiel and Castiel pointedly not looking at Dean. They buttoned up and gathered their things and started walking.

Dean wanted to say something, to ask what was wrong, but there was a tightness in his throat that wouldn't let up. What had he done wrong?

His heart was beating too fast, not in the good way, and he felt nauseous. Did Castiel regret what they did? It seemed like he was into it. Not just the physical stuff, but he looked at Dean like… like he really cared about him. Dean was sure his feelings were written all over his face. What had he done wrong?

By the time they got to the parking garage, Dean worked up the nerve to say something, to at least ask if he was okay. "Cas—" he began.

"I will see you tomorrow," Castiel cut him off.

That one sentence, said in such a business-professional way, hurt like a slap in the face. They hadn't just attended a fire code meeting—they'd made some sort of love, and it had meant something. It meant something to Dean, at least. That sentence was a dismissal, a "thanks for the fuck" without even acknowledging what they'd just done.

Castiel turned, offering Dean no goodnight, and walked to his car. Dean felt that familiar tightening of his chest and rushing in his ears. _Flee_.

So Dean did what he did best: he ran away, getting into his Impala and speeding off like a bat out of hell. He made it to his apartment's parking garage before the sensation became too much. He slammed into park, stumbled out of his car, and retched on the dirty cement. He could feel the panic attack coming.

He hadn't had a panic attack since before John died, but he remembered some things the school counselor said—get into a safe position and ground yourself. He held his knees close to his chest and named five things he could see: his secondhand work shoes, the white painted lines of the parking spaces he had ignored, the flickering fluorescent light in the corner, the elevator to his right that was always out of order, and Baby's driver side door still open. He found four things he could touch: the rough cement he sat on, the less rough but still uncomfortable pillar he leaned against, the sturdy-but-self-tailored suit jacket he wore, and his own hair, which he tried not to pull out. Three things he could hear: the soft rumble of Baby's engine, ambient traffic noise on the street below, and his own breathing, slowing with every sensation he named. Two things he could smell: the faint scent of cigarette smoke from a nearby ashtray and the little bit of dinner his stomach had rejected. One thing he could taste was his blood. He had been biting his lip, and he stopped.

Luckily his heartbeat sounded normal and he wasn't hyperventilating. Good enough to drive. He drove up to the third floor, parked in his usual spot, and made his way back to his apartment.

He was too tired to pace but too wired to sleep. He wanted to call Sam, but he didn't want to talk about it, and he didn't want to cry over the phone. He should want to eat his feelings, but at that moment, he didn't give a shit if he starved.

Laying in his bed with two extra blankets wrapped around him, he grudgingly set an alarm to get up for work. He had to help Sam out with Stanford tuition, and he had to put food on his table.

And he could look Castiel in the eyes and ask what was wrong. If he pushed him and Castiel touched him out of guilt or pity, Dean would apologize. And if he did want it, Dean was going to get an answer from him. He needed to know what he did wrong.

With that resolved, his brain let him sink into darkness.

 **A/N:** Poor Dean. Now we see his side. Did that answer any previous questions? Please review!


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N:** Hello all! Sorry it's been so long. I have a few more chapters written, but this has been difficult to finish with all the life happening. I'm going to go ahead and post them until I can continue writing. Thank you to all who forgives my hiatus! To make it up to you, here's a long chapter.

Takes place during chapter eight.

 **Chapter Nine**

Castiel could barely talk to Dean, and looked at him even less. Dean tried asking Castiel about what the fuck had happened to him, but Dean could have been a piece of furniture for all the notice Castiel took of him.

He got angry. He knew he didn't deserve someone like Castiel, but for the first time in his life, he gave Castiel everything he had. And Castiel had taken it. He gave Dean months of happiness, he made Dean forget his hang-ups and insecurities, and then he wanted him, and he gave him moments of bliss that Dean could never un-experience. And then he took it away.

So yeah, Dean was fucking mad. But the worst part was that Castiel was his _boss_ , and he needed the job. It paid more than he was qualified for, and he couldn't put it on his resume as a year of experience, because it had only been a few months. He was sure Castiel didn't know, but Dean was trapped. And if this was how it was going to feel until one of them left or exploded, Dean would be the first to go.

He wanted to scream at Castiel, to cry angry tears and make him listen. He couldn't just _do_ that to Dean, not when he was the only person Dean had ever trusted _not_ to. Serves him right for trusting at all.

In a few days it was Friday, and Dean was tired. He'd barely slept since the Incident, and he'd been hydrating like crazy because crying so much sucked up all the water in his body. The only reason he hadn't drowned himself in booze yet was because of his job, and because if he started drinking, he knew he wouldn't stop. He would not become John.

Castiel came into work before him, and Dean sat at his desk outside. He worked robotically, and when it came time for Castiel's board meeting, he used the phone to notify him. He didn't want to see his face. He couldn't take any more blank looks.

By four o'clock, Dean started tearing up again, and he really didn't want to cry at work.

"May I go home early?" Dean asked Castiel through the phone. He didn't explain.

"You may," Castiel had said, not asking for an explanation.

Dean packed up and left right then and there. He didn't want to call Sam, he still didn't really want to talk about it. He would go to Bobby, give him the bare minimum, and let the old man impart his magic wisdom. Bobby, like him, didn't like emotions much. But Bobby, unlike him, knew how to deal when the need arose.

Dean parked Baby behind the shop where employees parked. Even though there wouldn't be many there in the evening, he didn't want to take up customer parking.

"Hey, Bobby," Dean said, listening to the familiar ring of the chimes at the door.

Bobby, being Bobby, knew something was up immediately. He tossed his magazine to the side and leaned over the counter. "What's eatin' you, boy? Aren't you supposed to be at work?"

Dean felt a hot prickling behind his eyes again, _dammit_ , but he held it in. "Got off early. I just…" he trailed off, feeling more helpless than he ever had before.

Bobby strode out from behind the counter and made himself a cup of coffee. "C'mere," he said, pouring another one. "Let's have some shitty coffee."

Dean gulped down the brown liquid and immediately regretted it. His tongue burned, and he wondered if that's what Castiel felt when he gulped his down.

"Out with it," Bobby said gently.

Dean rubbed his eyes. Bare minimum. "So Cas, the guy Sam's been gossiping about with you," Bobby grunted noncommittally. "Well, something happened with him."

"A bedroom kinda something?" Bobby raised an eyebrow, and Dean felt his cheeks flush.

"Yeah, something like that," he rubbed the back of his neck.

"So what's the problem? Did somethin', uh, weird happen?"

"No, nothing like that," Dean sighed. "It was… emotionally intense, I guess. I'm hopelessly in love with him and I know how fucking corny it sounds, but it's true."

"It's okay, son," Bobby patted him on the back. "I know."

Dean laughed humorlessly. Of course Sam told him. "The thing is," Dean took a breath. "After the… thing… he went totally cold. Like I was a good fuck, and now he doesn't give a shit about me. And it hurts." Dean covered his eyes. He was _not_ going to cry in front of Bobby.

"Reminds me of when I met Karen," Bobby mused. "Turns out she thought _I_ didn't like her. We got it straightened out well enough." Dean was quiet. "The point is, it sounded like he did give a shit about you. Now, I wasn't there, so I don't know. It could go either way. But believe me, you're gonna be okay. You got me and Sam and the whole damn Roadhouse."

Dean sniffed. "Thanks, Bobby."

Bobby smiled. "Why don't you go watch crap tv in the break room til we close?"

"You really know how to treat a girl," Dean chuckled and made his way to the back.

He didn't know if Bobby was right. He didn't know if he'd ever be okay. It sure felt like a huge chunk of him was missing, and only one man could fix him. The couch squished under Dean, and he sighed. This is why he never did emotions.

The spare jeans and t-shirt he kept back there for the times he helped out at the garage was still there, and he changed slowly, cracking his aching joints. He didn't know how long he sat there, staring at the wall, but it was long enough to see the sun sink through the window.

He shook himself out of it. Time to watch Real Housewives of Atlanta and pretend nothing existed. Dean clicked the remote, but nothing happened. He tried smashing a few buttons, but the tv didn't work. "Great," he muttered, crouching over the machine. He saw the problem immediately—something had chewed through the cable connecting it to the wall.

With the thirtieth sigh of the night, he ducked back into the shop. "Bobby, can I just—" he stopped.

Castiel stood in the shop. He was in Bobby's fucking shop. Dean must be hallucinating. He was crazy. Castiel had that deer-in-the-headlights look on his face, the look probably mirrored in Dean's.

"Never mind," he murmured, still staring. Bobby gave him the raised eyebrow, the _Is this the emotional problem?_ but Dean didn't acknowledge him. Dean barely noticed him inch out the door.

This was it. Castiel was trapped due to some car problem. He couldn't run this time. Dean set his features in the most commanding expression he could give. "We need to talk, Cas," he said.

The blue-eyed man looked guilty. "Dean—"

"No," he cut Castiel off firmly. He wouldn't avoid Dean anymore. "We're going to talk about this shit. Come on." He turned and marched into the scrap yard, hoping Castiel would follow. If he didn't, Dean would quit his job and figure something out. And if he did, they were going to talk until they figured something out. Either way, something would be figured out.

Once he was far enough not to be heard by anyone, he turned, thankful enough to see Castiel in that awful adorable trench coat pulled around him. But he was still mad, he still needed answers. "Well?" he asked, crossing his arms.

A series of emotions ran across Castiel's face, fear, guilt, sadness, apprehension. It was as much emotion as he'd seen on Tuesday night, but a lot less heartwarming.

"You mind telling me what the hell has been going on the past few days?" Dean swallowed, but didn't back down.

Castiel rubbed his hands together. "I don't…" he trailed off, and Dean could see the torment in his blue eyes. Then he lowered them. "I must apologize for Tuesday," he muttered, "I should not have done… what I did, and I am sorry."

Dean felt a little ball of confusion settle in his stomach. Had Castiel truly not wanted what they did? Why would he be apologizing? "Sorry? Why would you be sorry?"

"I—" Castiel paused. "We can't be together, Dean."

It felt like a punch to the gut. Dean wanted to step back, to recoil and protect himself, but there was something in Castiel's voice. Like that barely-hanging-on wavering that he sometimes caught in his own voice, when he was lying.

No, he couldn't have regretted it. "Why the hell not?"

Castiel made an exasperated gesture. "There's such an age gap between us—"

"Not good enough," Dean retorted instantly. Dean wouldn't care if Castiel was seventy. He'd still want to be with him.

"I can't be with an employee," Castiel's voice was getting more desperate, like he was trying to convince himself.

"Not good enough," Dean repeated.

Something rushed into Castiel's eyes, and he hung his head. "You deserve better."

Dean uncrossed his arms. Better than Castiel? There was no such thing. Castiel had been the greatest thing to happen to Dean since, well, ever. Who else could make him feel needed, and better yet, _wanted_? Who would laugh at his jokes, open up to him, protect him from his ghosts?

"What does that mean?" Dean asked, voice low.

Castiel sighed. "It means you deserve better. Someone better than me. I'm not worthy, I'm not..." Castiel choked back a noise, and Dean's heart would have broken had he not needed to hear this. "You are still clean, Dean, and I'm tarnished. I refuse to drag you down with me."

"You're not tarnished, Cas."

"I am!" Castiel's voice rose over the South Dakota wind. "Don't you get it? You have years before you have to settle down, and you should spend them finding someone without all the baggage I carry." Dean grit his teeth. How could Castiel think he cared about that? "I will weigh you down, Dean. I'll weigh you down and take all your youth and when you finally realize that I'm too damaged to repair, you'll have wasted your best years on me." Castiel took a shuddering breath. "We can't be together because I refuse to ruin your life."

Dean wanted to laugh. He didn't know how low Castiel's self-esteem could be, but did he really not understand how much Dean cared about him? Could he really not see? Dean had been through so much shit in his life, and if anyone wasn't worthy, it was him. But he was fighting because he'd never needed anyone in his life like he needed Castiel. Dean would make him see.

"That is a hot load of bullshit," his voice was hard, and he stepped forward. "Ever thought that I want to take on your baggage? Huh? Did you ever think that maybe I'd given up my youth a long time ago? Did you stop for one _second_ and think that what we did a few days ago ruined me for anyone else I could _ever_ hope to find?" He felt blood rush through his ears. He had to make Castiel see. "Take me off that fucking pedestal, Cas."

"You want to know why I'm so tarnished?" Castiel's deep voice was rising, right on the edge of panic. "I told you about my father, how he abused me my whole life. We were religious, and I was the abomination. Because I like men, I was going to hell. He told me I couldn't be saved, and he'd beat me until I couldn't move. But the worst part—the worst part is what my brother would do afterwords. Michael would drag me up to his room after my dad left and he'd rape me while I was too weak to fight back."

Shock filtered through Dean's anger, and he ran cold. How _dare_ someone hurt Castiel? He was right, that was a shitshow of a childhood, but Dean didn't care how fucked up he was. Dean was fucked up too. He wanted to scream to the heavens that he'd protect Castiel, that nothing would ever hurt him again.

It was like Castiel was actively trying to contradict his thoughts, his eyes wild and desperate. "That started when I was thirteen. _Thirteen_. And if I struggled, if I made one sound of protest, he'd talk with my father and the whole process would repeat again. He'd fuck me and wipe away my tears and tell me that I _deserved_ it, that I was unclean to begin with and this was some sort of _repentance_ to work off my sins. _He's_ the one who told the Air Force recruiter about me, and I didn't fight back. He and my father are the reason we went to Baltimore, and the reason I couldn't go to my own fucking house until Gabriel threatened to call the cops if they didn't leave."

Castiel was shaking, and Dean wanted to gather him in his arms and kiss away the tears running down his cheeks. But he couldn't move.

"My mother died giving birth to me," Castiel continued. "My father beat me, my brother raped me, my sister did nothing, and no one would listen to Gabriel. That is my baggage, Dean, it's something I can never come back from. I can't, Dean, I can't, I can't…" He sunk to the ground, and Dean's heart did break this time.

He knew how Castiel felt. He couldn't _truly_ know, not his experiences, but he could feel the pain that rippled through his skin and the hate in John's bloodshot eyes. He could feel the overwhelming guilt about his mother, not protecting Sammy enough, not making it up to his father. He was a disappointment, a failure. He felt the loneliness that came with the strangers' eyes on his cuts and bruises, making assumptions and keeping their distance and _never fucking helping_. That helplessness broke Dean a long time ago.

"You deserve so much more than me."

Dean choked back a laugh. _He_ deserved better? He deserved nothing. For what he'd done, he'd told himself over and over again that the things he went through were his punishment. If he could only make it through the hell that was his life up until the last few months, he could forget about everything and deserve to stop hurting.

Logically, he knew better. But knowing doesn't stop feeling, and Dean could never stop hoping, never stop wanting. And then Castiel came, with his blue eyes and little quirks and his god damn smile and Dean was suddenly worth it. Castiel was his reward for working off his sins. Castiel could be his freedom.

And then he'd gone. He'd left Dean, and it felt like a whole new kind of torture. Why give him something like that if not to make it hurt more when it was taken away?

But that look in Castiel's eyes when they'd sat on his chair, sated and sleepy… That look was real. Dean wasn't smart enough to make up that look. That look said everything Dean had ever felt about Castiel. And there was nothing, _nothing_ that could ever come along in his life to rival that.

He walked forward. He would make Castiel see.

"You think I'm clean, huh?" he said quietly. Castiel didn't move. "Get up."

Castiel rose slowly, folding into himself like Dean would hurt him. "Look at me," Dean's voice came out softer, and he didn't try to hold back his feelings. It was the only way Castiel would see. "Now it's time for you to understand why none of that matters." Castiel opened his mouth, but Dean held up a hand. "Shut up, you had your turn."

Dean took a deep breath. This was it. "When I was little, I started the fire that killed my mother, I told you that already. If I wasn't here, she'd still be alive. Sam would have had both parents raising him, and my dad would have never started drinking, and he probably wouldn't have wrecked his car. He'd be alive. So it's my fault my parents are dead, basically." It came pouring out of him. "You were hit for _who you are_ , you didn't deserve it. I was hit for _what I did_ , that's why I did deserve it. And my dad reminded me every day since I was four just how much I deserved it.

"Not only did I indirectly kill my parents, but when my dad didn't leave us enough money for food, I'd steal some. I stole whenever I got the chance, and I gave most of it to Sammy, because at least he could grow up to be big and strong and make something of himself." Dean's voice came out even softer, thinking of little Sammy. "I took all his drunk beatings because my dad was coming at him when he was _six years old_ and didn't understand why he was angry. I took it all, because I thought I deserved that. I raised Sammy, tried to be his mom and dad, because he was the only thing I had left. And I knew that one day, he'd grow up and leave me for better things, and I encouraged it, because then he'd at least be happy. I gave up my childhood a long time ago, Cas. I didn't ever really have one to begin with."

He could feel the wetness behind his eyes, but he held it back. "And you," Dean let out a humorless laugh. "You're the best thing that ever happened to me. I was pining for you before you even knew my name. God, Cas, _you're_ the one who doesn't understand. You do so much for everyone else, and you never ask for anything in return. These few weeks I've been around you I've smiled more than I have in my entire life. And on Tuesday..." Dean ran a hand through his hair, feeling the heat spread through his face. "Tuesday was the best day of my life. No one, and I mean no one, has ever looked at me like you did." _Tell him._ "You looked at me like I was worth something, and then you pulled away. And that hurt more than any hit I've ever taken, because you're the best thing that's ever going to happen to me, and you will never convince me otherwise. I don't need to use my twenties to explore my options or some shit, because there's only one option I want."

Shit, he could feel the tears coming. Emotion had never felt this overwhelming in his life, not in his childhood, not when John died, not when Sam left… never. It was like a tidal wave. "Point is, if you're tarnished, then I'm filthy. So don't you think that we are anything less than equals." Dean raised his chin. _Tell him._ "The only way I will ever leave you is if you tell me that I mean nothing to you."

Castiel's lips were parted, and he stood frozen in the junkyard. His trench whipped around him, but he didn't move, he didn't look away.

Dean felt a sinking feeling. He wasn't saying anything. Dean had revealed too much, god dammit, he fucked up again. Castiel would leave for real this time, and what would Dean do then? Go back to his bed where he fantasized about Castiel every night? Go back to the roadhouse and stare at that seat Castiel had sat in? There was no place he could hide from the memories of Castiel and his blue eyes and his smile.

He could feel the panic attack coming on. His chest tightened, because he fucked up. Again. "Well?" he had to ask again. Castiel hadn't moved. "Do I mean nothing to you?"

It was like his question had broken Castiel, and his eyes flooded with something good. Dean didn't want to say the four letter word. But Castiel said five words that would be forever seared into Dean's brain. "You mean everything to me."

Dean had to choke back tears of relief. He would never admit it to anyone, but Castiel had the power to break him. And he chose not to.

He didn't know who reached first, but he was in Castiel's arms, burying his head into Castiel's neck. All he could do was inhale his piney scent and try not to crush him. Castiel held on tightly, fingers carding through Dean's growing hair. It was just like Tuesday, except he knew now. He knew it was real.

His phone vibrated in his pocket, and he didn't give a single fuck. He'd rather stay in Castiel's arms forever. But Castiel pulled away a little and nodded at him to answer, because it could be Bobby.

"Dean?" The old man asked, as if Dean wouldn't be the one answering.

"Yeah?" He was glad his voice was steady.

"If you two are okay now, or whatever, his car is ready."

Dean hung up and relayed the information, but they didn't move quite yet. It was amazing, knowing what Castiel had made of himself after all of his trauma. And how Castiel accepted him, through the trauma of his own.

"Dean?" Castiel asked softly.

"Hmm?"

"How would you feel about being in a relationship with me?"

He could feel the tension in Castiel's shoulders, and he pulled back to look him in those beautiful blue eyes. "You askin'?" He couldn't keep the grin off his face, and it only grew when Castiel smiled back.

Finally, because he could, Dean slid his hand behind Castiel's neck and pulled him in for a kiss. It was deep and heady and spoke volumes. With that feeling of unconditional acceptance and mutual intensity, Dean could be flying. _They_ could be flying. They deserved it.

 **A/N:** How were the feelings? Reviews are love!


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